


Lost

by GealachGirl



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Safety, Trust, bed sharing, fun with the senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GealachGirl/pseuds/GealachGirl
Summary: When the world goes quiet, Matt doesn't know what to do with himself until he finds Foggy again





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [94BottlesOfSnapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/gifts).

> From this prompt I adore: https://pomegranate-belle.tumblr.com/post/184003507014/meant-to-finish-off-the-netflix616-crossover 
> 
> Especially since it's in the same vein of what I would write without prompting.

Looking back, Matt thought that maybe jumping off the fire escape had been a bad idea.

Even though it was a clear night, in the middle of the summer, he’d known something was off. And now he was lying in a Dumpster he hadn’t realized was there.

But he’d put his finger on the problem.

The world stretched out around him in a vast, vacuum-like void, and Matt couldn’t find his way in it.

Now, everything was dark. No sound, no more touch than the slippery, tacky garbage bags under him, no smell but the trash, and it was all that settled on his palette too. No impression of anything beyond the Dumpster walls.

It took him one second to put it all together in his head, and one more second to climb out of the Dumpster, and then one more for the implication to sink in.

Matt shook his head, stretched out his senses as far as he could.

Distantly, he could hear his breath scrape out of his throat. He could feel his chest heaving. Dim echoes of _sound_, but no sense of what it was, came back to him.

Still just the world that was immediately around him, which was still mostly garbage.

Matt reached around behind and above him for the lowest bar on the ladder to the fire escape, biting down on the panic to hold it in place.

Once he found it, Matt swung up and scrambled to the roof.

The world was still vacant, more so without walls around him. He could feel the rough roof under his boots, could feel a breeze brush against his body, could smell the garbage and exhaust that filled the whole city.

Every single instinct told him to keep moving, and with everything else muted, they roared the loudest.

Matt made his way to the edge of the roof and tried to get enough information to gauge the distance to the next one.

His radar was still semi-active at least and he waited to interpret the gaps in the air that he could perceive. It was clear he wouldn’t be making progress quickly, at least.

Eventually he reasoned that if he got enough of a running start, he’d be able to clear the space.

He felt the pavement under his boots.

He felt the ledge.

And then nothing at all. No shifts in the air currents, no atmosphere.

And then his knees crashed into the roof of the neighboring building. Matt gritted his teeth and rose to his feet. He could tell they were both going to bruise, but nothing was damaged internally. One step forward gave him a slight limp on his right, but he was sure that would clear up.

He could still run, and that would keep him moving.

Maybe he shouldn’t, but he was defenseless. Blind. And that was the worst position to be in dressed the way he was.

He needed somewhere safe.

He needed to leave this rooftop.

He didn’t know how to do it.

Without the other senses, Matt’s radar wasn’t as detailed as he was used to so he couldn’t even figure out where he should go. 

It was disorienting and it left him feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed. He was so used to the world being unbearably full that, with it emptied, he didn’t even know how to hold himself.

Despite his best efforts, the panic climbed up his chest, clawing at his heart and lungs. Threatening to close his throat.

But before it took over, he detected something.

It was on the very edge of his perception, but clearly there. And without thinking, Matt made his way toward it because everything inside of him told him he should, and that voice was his only guide.

The panic receded, replaced by a soft, overwhelming feeling of _safe_ and _warm_. It meant _home._

And then he was climbing down the fire escape ladder again and moving closer to the single thing he could perceive.

The closer he got, the more senses were filled in. Still not by the world, but by this person.

Matt smelled musk — the kind of smell that was usually called ‘dew’ or ‘mist’ by companies — and a hint of sugar, paper, books, leather. There was something more familiar, too, unique to this person. He also smelled the general scent of New York’s streets. This person had been walking around for hours probably.

He could taste a touch of worry, but also donuts and stale coffee and ink from the end of a pen that had been chewed on idly. 

He heard everything. A heartbeat, blood rushing through veins, muscles shifting, teeth sinking into the corner of a lip, fingers drumming a short rhythm on a thigh, the sound of clothes rustling, the creak of a messenger bag’s strap, hair brushing against cheeks – finally long enough for that.

Touch came last. 

Matt knew he could touch this person, and even knew what to expect when he did. Where the person’s shape was outlined roughly by his radar, it became clearer when Matt reached out.

He encountered soft and solid. The clothes were a little stiff, but they gave easily. The width of the shoulders told Matt this was a man, and they were strong, if a little slouched. The man’s arms rose up when Matt was close enough, and came around his back, pulling them closer together. He felt the rumble of a voice, how it echoed through the man’s body and vibrated into him.

Matt hummed happily at the subtle pressure enveloping him and sank into it.

All of the alarm had disappeared. He didn’t need to keep moving, he needed to stay here. Here, where he could get closer to that faint, spicy scent when he tucked his head into the man’s neck.

He felt the man give into him, too.

Before he heard the words, a hand brushed up his spine, lighting little fires in its wake.

“Okay Matty, let’s get you off the streets.”

Matt woke up to an excruciating headache. The world felt like even more than usual, and he groaned as he dug the heel of his hand into his forehead and sat up.

Vaguely he remembered the world being empty, and part of him wished that feeling would come back.

Then the bed shifted under him, and Matt was able to focus his senses to this moment here. He tuned into the smell of Foggy on the sheets and the too-big clothes he was wearing. And of course, the presence of Foggy all around him.

This was Foggy’s apartment after all. Foggy’s bed. That they were in together.

He listened to Foggy’s sleepy sounds, the restful beat of his heart, and he could feel his warmth spreading out like waves. Matt could also hear the traffic outside, the sound of people on the street opening their business for the day, newspapers rustling and the chaos of the subways. He tipped his face up to meet all of it.

He didn’t even want to think about what he could taste and smell, but his world had gone back to normal, and Matt smiled despite himself.

The bed shifted again, and this time it was accompanied by Foggy stretching and sighing. And then a soft, “Oh thank God.”

Matt turned toward Foggy, and it was impossible to miss the subtle leap in his heartbeat. He distantly remembered comments from college about his bedhead in the mornings.

“Morning Fog.”

A symphony unfurled of the blanket sliding and Foggy’s body shifting against it as he sat up.

“That’s all you have to say?” Foggy asked. He was trying to be outraged, but there was too much relief, and sleep, in his voice to pull it off. “You know, I decided to stay here because I wasn’t sure I could trust you not to suffocate in your sleep or something. What the fuck was that?”

Matt let the words wash over him, basking for a moment in the sound of Foggy’s sleep-gruff voice. It was still clearer than what he’d been hearing last night.

“The world went dead. The fire went out,” he said finally. Matt knew what Foggy was really asking, but he wanted to hear him acknowledge it.

Somehow, Matt’s trip into sensory oblivion had made everything slot into place. More and more, he’d been thinking about his feelings regarding Foggy, and last night finally made them clear.

He’d barely recognized who Foggy was, but Matt had known, on a deep, primal level that he could trust him. Could fall at his feet and wake up the next morning.

It was the closest to love he’d felt in a long time, and when he looked back – before the wrench representing Daredevil was involved – Matt could track that feeling all along the years of their friendship.

And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Foggy felt the same way. He wondered if Foggy had just been looking for proof this whole time that Matt might reciprocate. 

Foggy sat back and Matt imagined he was being surveyed.

In the meantime, he drank up the sensation of being surrounded by soft things that smelled like Foggy, and the residual warmth from when they’d been sleeping side-by-side. He had a hazy sense-memory of spending most of the night draped over Foggy’s chest.

“But you recognized me?” Foggy finally asked.

Matt nodded, and he caught the faint heat rising to the surface of his friend’s skin. Foggy opened and closed his mouth a few times without words coming out. Matt wondered if he would have to move things along and started considering how to do it.

But then Foggy asked, “Why?”

“Because it was you, and I know you better than anyone else. I don’t even have to make an effort to recognize you.” Matt replied. He shifted closer, felt Foggy lean into his space, tasted his breath from how his mouth parted to respond.

“Maatt–” It sounded like a whine, and his words fanned over Matt’s face because Foggy didn’t move any farther away. “You better mean that. You can’t be here in my bed and just say things like that if you don’t mean it.”

His heart was beating faster, and there was a tension like anticipation to the way he held himself.

Matt beamed.

“Every word.”

And then his senses were full of Foggy again.

**Author's Note:**

> The fandom continues on [tumblr](https://booksandcoffeeandink.tumblr.com/)


End file.
